


They Should Base A Sitcom On Us

by kateandbarrel



Category: Dexter (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-04
Updated: 2011-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-21 00:29:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/218918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kateandbarrel/pseuds/kateandbarrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The case of the supposedly solved Bay Harbor Butcher attracts the attention of one Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Should Base A Sitcom On Us

**Author's Note:**

> For livejournal community tvrealm Stranger in a Strange Land crossover fic challenge: take ONE character from a fandom, and cross them over into another, unrelated fandom.

_Minutiae. Dull, drab, boring, repetitive lab tasks. It's been that way for weeks. The criminals of Miami metro have been remarkably reserved the past month. But I've enjoyed the break. The dark passenger has been quiet, for once, satiated after taking care of Jordan Chase, and snoozing away in the backseat, letting me drive in silence. Things are remarkably stress-free when I don't have to worry about chasing down bad guys, killing them, and cleaning up, all while avoiding detection and suspicion._

 _But I should have known it wouldn't last. Nothing ever lasts._

***

Dexter was sitting at his desk, half his attention focused on the blood report in front of him, the other half directed at the station around him, observing and listening to the activity of the cops and detectives around him. It was habit by this point. Constant vigilance was necessary for survival.

It was then, right as he was writing out his conclusion on this cut-and-dry domestic murder case, that the words drifted over him, those three little words that had been the cause of one of the biggest close calls of his life, making his head snap up. Bay Harbor Butcher.

"He swears up and down that the Bay Harbor Butcher is responsible for those missing people. That they were murdered," Angel was saying to Deb, as they walked towards Dexter.

"Well, he's nuts. The Bay Harbor Butcher is dead. Dead and buried." Deb looked troubled, and stopped when they reached Dexter's desk.

"What's going on?" Dexter put on his best I'm-interested-in-a-professional-manner-only face.

"There's some amateur crime-solving motherfucker from jolly old England over there who's claming that the Bay Harbor Butcher is alive and kicking and still killing people." Deb crossed her arms and tossed a dirty look over her shoulder.

Dexter leaned over slowly to take a look. _That must be him. Talking to LaGuerta._ Tall, slim, head of curly black hair, and a cold, calculating stare sweeping over the station and taking in everything, even as he was engaged in conversation. Dexter sat back up and shrugged non-commitally at Angel. "Amateur?"

Angel nodded. "He got permission from the Captain to do an unofficial investigation. Apparently, he works with Scotland Yard."

"Right, like they really know how to solve murders," Deb scoffed. "Jack the Ripper, anyone?"

 _Poor Deb. She has such a high estimation of the Miami police. It would break her heart not just as my sister, but as a cop, if she were to find out that I tampered with dozens of cases and contributed to incorrect conclusions on the part of the department._

"Anyway, LaGuerta's all over him. Any chance to clear Doakes' name." Deb shook her head, clearly pitying the lieutenant for continuing to believe in Doakes' innocence after all these years.

"What's his name?" Dexter asked.

"Sherlock Holmes," Angel replied. "Weird name, huh?"

Dexter looked over at the stranger once again. LaGuerta had a hand on his arm, and a smile on her face. The stranger was smiling back, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. It looked familiar. Dexter had seen that smile before - on his own face, in the mirror, whenever he pretended.

 _He's like me. This should be interesting._

***

Dexter was sitting in one of the briefing rooms, staring at the wall, which was covered with pictures and details of missing persons cases - all murders he had done, and disposed of the bodies, leaving no trace. Or so Dexter thought. A small amount of panic was lurking in the back of his mind, though he tried to reason it away. He'd received an e-mail earlier that day from the stranger, who only signed it with 'SH,' asking him to meet to discuss a few things. Dexter figured he must have asked to meet with several people - he'd seen both Deb and Angel coming out of this briefing room over the past few days. He must just want to get details about cases from everyone at the station.

 _It couldn't be because he actually suspects me._

Dexter had researched this Sherlock Holmes after he arrived, reading about cases he'd solved in England, France, all over Europe - and even some in the states. One previous case was in Florida. That case wasn't in his department's jurisdiction, which explained why Sherlock Holmes had not shown up on Dexter's radar before. But it was unsettling. The man was a bona fide genius. Dexter couldn't find a record of a case that he had tried to solve, and failed.

The door opened and the amateur detective swept in. He stood opposite the table from Dexter, staring into his eyes, saying nothing. Dexter did his best to appear blank, and refused to break eye contact.

 _I'm having a staring contest with destiny. It all comes down to this. If I break, he wins._

After a moment, Sherlock blinked, then smirked. "My name is Sherlock Holmes," he said in a refined accent. He turned to look at his wall of documents, which he'd clearly put a lot of time into.

Dexter relaxed slightly without that penetrating stare focused on him. "I know who you are."

"Of course you do, but the formalities must be observed." Sherlock touched a mugshot on the wall - the image of a particularly nasty child rapist that Dexter had taken great pleasure in taking apart piece by piece - and made a _hmm_ noise. His hand dropped to his side. "I'm missing something, Mr Morgan."

"Call me Dexter."

Sherlock turned around, an eyebrow raised. "Dexter. Then call me Sherlock."

"What do you need from me?"

"Your insight," Sherlock straightened up, almost as if he was embarrassed to say the words. "If John - my partner - were here, he would assist me. However, seeing as how his dreadful job would not allow him the time off for the trip, I'm forced to make do."

Dexter furrowed his brow. "And you want.. _me_ to help?"

"I've spoken to the detectives. Although they're more or less competant, they lack the critical thinking skills necessary. From what they say, you, Dexter, are very much like me." Sherlock turned to face Dexter.

 _Oh, you kill people too?_

"Oh?" Dexter asked, not really sure where this was going.

"You're very highly praised by everyone in this department regarding your abilities to catch criminals. You've had insights that proved to be turning points in several cases. Correct?"

"I'm highly praised?"

"You have a habit of answering questions with questions. Have you noticed?"

"Have _you?_ "

Sherlock smiled again, that somewhat unsettling smile, and Dexter wondered if that's how he looked to others. No wonder Doakes was after him all the time.

"Will you assist me, Dexter?"

Dexter wanted to say no. If Sherlock was stumped, then he should do everything in his power to keep the man stumped. But to say no would look suspicious.

"Of course. I'll help however I can."

Sherlock went over to a side table, picked up a pile of folders, and tossed them onto the table in front of Dexter. "All missing persons cases. And all victims, I believe, of the Bay Harbor Butcher. Review them, then tell me what you think." He turned back to the wall.

Dexter sighed and looked at the stack of missing person files. A dozen or so. He picked up the first one and began to read.

***

"There's no clear connection between the victims," Dexter said at last, closing the folder on the final case he'd reviewed. He'd killed all of these people, of course he knew the connection - they all deserved it - but he had to work with what was out in the open.

"No _clear_ connection, that's true." Sherlock placed his fingers together and touch them lightly to his lips as he thought. "Have you ever heard of a serial killer that didn't have _something_ to tie his victims together?"

"Maybe these people weren't murdered. Maybe they're just.. missing people."

Sherlock threw him an incredulous look. "Please. That might be a reasonable conclusion for the missing felons - but the others? Upstanding citizens, taxpayers, parents?"

"Why did you pick these cases?" Dexter needed more information before deciding how to proceed. How much to tell Sherlock. "Miami must have hundreds of unsolved missing persons cases."

"A-ha. There's been some new research lately. The use of maths, equations, to predict the patterns of serial killers."

"Does that work?"

"The research is preliminary, but it seems to, yes. It has helped in the investigation of a few serial killers in your own country."

 _Guess I should have paid more attention in algebra._

"That's amazing," Dexter said, trying to sound suitably impressed, and not annoyed, at hearing about this new technique in crime fighting.

"I tried many equations, input many variables - including hundreds of combinations of victim profiles - and these ones here in front of you are the only ones that presented a clear pattern."

Dexter cocked his head to the side. "Assuming then that these are murders, it still doesn't mean it's the Bay Harbor Butcher. He's dead."

"Is he?"

"I saw his body myself," Dexter said. "The Bay Harbor Butcher was Sargeant James Doakes."

"I'm quite sure you did see James Doakes' body. But he wasn't the Butcher."

"The evidence-"

"The evidence is compelling to anyone without a substantial IQ. But even a cursory look below the surface shows that this was a clear set-up. It's what attracted my attention to this case in the first place. James Doakes was framed, and then was murdered himself. The pattern of these missing persons cases, which all occurred after Doakes' death, fits in perfectly with the previously confirmed Butcher kills."

 _He's good._

"The department just wanted to close the case."

"I'm sure. The entire thing was poorly handled from start to finish, if the case file is anything to go by. Doubtless it was a public relations nightmare."

"Well, if it really is the Bay Harbor Butcher, then we know the connection between the victims." Dexter decided to offer up a bit of information. He didn't particularly want to steer Sherlock in the right direction, but he needed to appear earnest and helpful. Keep the trail off himself.

Sherlock stared at Dexter. "What do you mean? There's nothing in the file."

"Whoever wrote it up probably just wanted to finish the job quickly. Get down the basic facts and evidence and move on. One of the working theories was that the victims were all criminals themselves. Murderers." Dexter gestured at the files. "Some obviously criminals, some apparently average people.. but with a secret."

"Fascinating," Sherlock's eyes became unfocused and he stared at the ceiling, thinking. "A vigilante."

Dexter checked his watch. It was after eight. They'd been talking for hours.

"Places to be?" Sherlock asked without even looking in Dexter's direction.

"Hungry." Dexter considered the other man for a moment. He didn't particularly want to leave Sherlock to his own devices. He might figure out who the Butcher was while Dexter wasn't around to influence his thought process. "Want to join me?"

"I don't eat while working," Sherlock said dismissively.

"I think my mother just rolled in her grave," Dexter said, trying for a little levity. "You're going to make yourself sick."

"I've done it before."

"Well, I hate eating alone. Will you at least come to keep me company?"

Sherlock looked at Dexter and raised an eyebrow, but nodded.

***

"You're missing out," Dexter said around a mouthful of pork. "These guys make the best pulled pork sandwiches in all of Florida."

Sherlock looked up from the phone in his hands, not even trying to hide his disgust. "No thank you."

Dexter wiped his mouth with a napkin and regarded the Englishman. He was wearing a button-down shirt, the first couple buttons undone and the shirt sleeves rolled up. He looked slightly sweaty. Unaccustomed to the Florida heat, but unwilling to sacrifice the comfort of his usual clothes for something more weather-appropriate. As soon as they'd sat at the table, he'd pulled out his phone and hadn't put it down. He needed constant stimulation. Solving crimes, his phone - anything to occupy his mind. Dexter felt a slight victory in seeing that the great Sherlock Holmes had faults on his own.

"Playing Angry Birds?" Dexter asked.

"I'm sorry?" Sherlock ceased moving his fingers over his phone and looked up.

"It's a game. For phones." Dexter took another bite of sandwich.

"Ah. No. Just been doing a bit of research. Wondering about nighttime fishing." Sherlock went back to his phone.

"Some people do it," Dexter replied, chewing thoughtfully. "Night's not an especially productive time, though."

Sherlock looked up, fixing him with another stare. "So why do you do it, then?"

Dexter's mouth went dry. He painfully swallowed the food in his mouth. "What?"

"You regularly go out to sea at night. Yet you do not advocate night fishing. So I'm wondering what it is _exactly_ that you do out there. Enjoying the.. beautiful nighttime ocean views?" Sherlock put his phone down and crossed his arms.

Dexter could all but hear Harry's warning in his mind. _"This isn't right, Dex. You need to get away from him." That's what he'd say. And of course he'd be right. But I can't help my own curiosity._

"How..?"

"Your hair and skin show clear signs of someone who spends a lot of time on the water, being affected by the salt spray. Yet your tan is only moderate - more consistent with someone who spends most of his days inside a flourescent light-filled police station."

 _Does he know?_

Dexter pretended to have a long, internal debate. But he had an excuse ready. "I'm having an affair," he said quietly.

"You're not married."

"She is. We go out onto the water at night, so we won't be seen."

"Ah." Sherlock didn't seem convinced, but Dexter was learning that it was difficult to tell what the man was thinking most of the time.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't spread this around the station."

Another fake smile. "Mum's the word."

***

Several days went by, with Dexter spending most of his time in that briefing room with Sherlock and his wall. Dexter would arrive at the station, and not even go to his desk, but just turn and head straight for the makeshift investigation room. He and Sherlock would talk, bouncing ideas back and forth. They would examine the details of the cases over and over. Looking for clues. They went out to several homes of the victims, combing for missed evidence. It was almost exciting, to be on this end of things. Dexter could almost see why people like Deb became detectives. And he and Sherlock, as it turned out, made something of a good team.

 _Sherlock the crime-solving sociopath and Dexter the serial killing sociopath. They should base a sitcom on us._

Dexter did his best to stymie Sherlock's progress whenever possible, but the man was brilliant, much smarter than any of the Miami detectives, and it wasn't that easy. Sherlock had managed to find evidence for five of the cases to show that the missing people were involved in foul play. Each leap Sherlock made, Dexter felt the risk of discovery closer and closer.

 _I shouldn't feel bad. Nobody else would have made these conclusions. Sherlock Holmes is unstoppable._

But was he unstoppable? The man was tall, but slight, and not at all intimidating. He would be easy to get the upper hand of, plunge a needle into his neck. Drag him off to be cut up and disposed of.

But Dexter couldn't do that. Sherlock didn't deserve it. He helped people. Caught criminals. He had channelled his restless energy, his sociopathic urges, into something constructive. Rather than committing crimes, Sherlock solved them.

 _He's a much better man than I._

Dexter reached something of a state of peace. If he should be caught, it should be by this man - who was probably one of the best detectives to ever live.

Dexter didn't have long to enjoy the sense of peace from the acceptance of his fate, however.

***

"I'm leaving," Sherlock announced to Dexter as soon as he walked into the briefing room on the morning of his seventh day there.

"I'll come with you," Dexter said, moving to grab his bag, assuming he meant leaving the station.

"I'm leaving Florida," Sherlock clarified.

Dexter paused. "But-"

"We haven't caught the Butcher. I know. But I received a text this morning. We've got something of a criminal mastermind back in England, calls himself Moriarty. Scotland Yard thought he was dead, but I knew that to be a false assumption. He's resurfaced, and been making trouble." There was a glint in Sherlock's eye. "He's trying to draw me out."

 _This is it for you, isn't it, Sherlock? The chase. The hunt. **That** I'm familiar with._

"I think we've done all we can do at this juncture, you and I." Sherlock glanced at the wall of documents.

"But you never leave a case unsolved," Dexter was slightly suspicious. Surely Sherlock wouldn't leave this dangling?

"Oh, I never said I didn't solve it. Just that we didn't catch the Butcher. He's extremely good at it. He has left no evidence whatsoever to identify who he is." Sherlock's stare penetrated right through Dexter. "He will have to remain shrouded in mystery, for now."

"Well, maybe he'll screw up in the future," Dexter said in the calmest voice he could manage, though his heart was threatening to burst out of his body.

"I doubt it. For now, I'll take my leave. Thank you, Dexter, this has been quite an exciting week. Working shoulder to shoulder with such an accomplished.. profiler."

Dexter nodded. "You too," he said weakly. Was this really happening? Did Sherlock know who he was - yet was keeping it to himself? Sherlock was unreadable.

"Remember what you asked me?"

Dexter looked at him blankly, but Sherlock didn't seem bothered that he wasn't following.

"Mum's the word. Goodbye, Dexter."

Sherlock swept out of the room nearly as dramatically as the first time he'd come into it. Dexter all but fell into a chair, breathing hard. What had he asked Sherlock? He'd asked him not to spread the word around the station about his.. affair. He placed the palm of his hand against his chest, feeling his heart beat wildly, and smiled.

 _Until next time, Sherlock._


End file.
